


now i ain't sayin' he a gold digger

by ShippingEverything



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: (its implied otto murdered her), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gold Digging, M/M, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, a minor character dies before the story even starts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: but he ain't messin' with no broke, brokeOr: Otto is 24, newly widowed, and wealthy. Melchior is a garbage man. The dumb pwp au that literally no one asked for.





	now i ain't sayin' he a gold digger

**Author's Note:**

> idea from [here](https://twitter.com/sa_confess/status/878433893539565568). title from kanye west's Gold Digger
> 
> warning that otto lowkey definitely murdered his (60 year old) late wife in this so if thats not your cup of tea, be careful i guess??? like the first half of the fic is about the murder but there are references to it sprinkled throughout
> 
> please enjoy this dumb fic

Otto is making his morning protein shake when his cell rings.

"Otto Lammermeier," He answers, shaking in three scoops of protein powder into the murky liquid.

"Who did you fuck?" A sharp, angry voice hisses. Otto almost sighs. It's his late wife's youngest child, Maximiliana Genevieve. He grabs his shake and begins to move upstairs so he can get dressed for his run while she rants at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jenny,” He says, calmly.

"Don't fucking call me _Jenny_ , you murderous son of a bitch," Jenny shrieks, "Who did you fuck to get off scotch free? We all know you killed her, everyone in town knows, why the fuck are the police saying you didn't do it?"

"There just wasn't any evidence that I killed her," Otto says, matter-of-factly. Then, as an afterthought, "Because I didn't."

"Fuck you."

"Now, now, let's talk like adults-"

"Adults don't marry people old enough to be their parents!" Jenny yells. Otto rolls his eyes silently, grabbing a shirt that says _Trophy Boy_ from his closet. Jenny is six months older than Otto, and she's always held it against him (And, to an extent, her mother).

“Evangeline and I were very much in love,” Otto says, almost automatically. It’s a phrase that he’s had to repeat often in the past few weeks,—to reporters, detectives, police—and he has it down pat. “And I know what you and your siblings think, but the police already looked into it and Evangeline’s death was a tragic, unpredictable accident.”

Jenny laughs, sharp and bitter, “Come on, we _all_ know the police force up there is corrupt as hell. And money talks, even when you only have it because you’re a gold digging family destroyer who murdered your wife.”

“Those are some strong accusations,” Otto says, sliding on his running shorts, “One could even call them slander.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jenny says, “Just know that we’re not going to settle for this.”

“Your mother and I had a very good, very close relationship and she left everything to me. You and your siblings will have to deal with it. And, anyway,” Otto says, continuing in a singsongy voice, “There’s still no proof that I killed her.”

Jenny screams, wordless and loud. Otto just holds the phone away from his face, especially as she _just keeps going_ , ranting and raving on and on. Really, at this point, he could call the police and confess to killing her (Not that he did, _of course_ ) and they _still_ wouldn’t do anything. Evangeline hadn’t been well-liked in town, but Otto was; two months had Evangeline been dead and Otto had already donated a significant amount of money to the police force, more than Evangeline or her children ever would have. The police where all but in the palm of his hand.

He ties on his sneakers and hops down the stairs. The sun is just coming up, a perfect time for his run. He leaves the house, locks up, and puts his phone back to his ear. Jenny’s still yelling. He listens for a while, it’s a lot of _You bastard_ and _Gold digger_ and _life-ruining money-stealer_ and _We’re going to take you to court, you dickwad_ , so nothing that he hasn’t heard before. “Listen, Jen, I have to get going.”

“ _Don’t hang up on me-_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you in court, whatever! Maybe if you and Lily and Nate scrape all of your money together, you could afford a halfway decent lawyer! Toodles!” Otto hangs up, plugging in his headphones and tucking his phone into it’s armband holder. He puts his headphones into his ears, blasting _Whipped Into Shape_ as he begins to jog down his driveway.

He loves his neighborhood, has loved it since he started sleeping with Evangeline when he was 18, and he especially loves his house; it’s _huge_ , with three floors and a finished basement and way more rooms than he’ll ever need, plus it’s fully furnished with all the extravagant dishes, furniture, and decor that Evangeline acquired over the years. Her kids are pissed that he got it in the will—that he got _everything_ in the will, really—because it was their childhood home, they have beautiful memories of it, blah blah blah, but they would’ve just sold everything and divided the profit. The house deserves better. _Also_ , He thinks, _I spent five years pretending to be in love with that woman, I earned this_.

He’s humming along with the song as he reaches the end of his driveway and promptly falls ass over teakettle. Normally, he’d get up and brush himself off, maybe tie his shoelaces a little tighter, but right now he’s too busy being awestruck because there’s a _fantastic_ ass sticking out of the garbage truck parked in front of his house. Hot Garbage Man leans even further into the truck and though Otto doesn’t know the reason for the changed stance, he thanks god for it because _Damn, that’s a nice ass_.

Otto stands, finally, and straighten out his tank top and shorts, leaning in what he hopes is a seductive way against his trashcan. “Hey there.”

Hot Garbage Man comes out of his truck. He frowns at Otto. “Hello. Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Otto assures him, complete with a charming fake laugh, “I just haven't seen you around here before.”

“Uh. I switched routes with a coworker today… Are you sure there's nothing wrong?”

Otto laughs again, this time a much more vapid chuckle, meant to make Hot Garbage Man feel important and funny. Hot Garbage Man just looks at Otto sort of like he thinks Otto is crazy. _Well, there's no accounting for taste_. “I'm fine. I just wanted to know if you'd like to come by here again.”

“Do you have more garbage you forgot to pull down?” Hot Garbage Man asks, completely missing the point. Otto resists the urge to roll his eyes. _It's always the dumb ones_. “Because I can just schedule that in for pick up later right-”

“I meant in a more personal context.”

Hot Garbage Man doesn't speak for a second. Then, he frowns at Otto and says, “Wouldn't your spouse mind?”

“My what?”

Hot Garbage Man gestures to Otto's tank top. “Your spouse… Or whoever you're a ‘trophy boy’ for, I guess, you two don't have to be married.”

“Oh, _this_ ,” Otto tugs at the shirt, rolling his eyes at his own forgetfulness, “Duh, of course you’d think that! Don’t worry, I'm not married.”

“Oh, good,” Hot Garbage Man says, laughing awkwardly, “Because I was worried-”

“Yeah, no, my wife died two months ago,” Otto continues. Hot Garbage Man freezes. “It was a terrible and unavoidable accident.”

“I-” Hot Garbage Man stops. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Otto waits eagerly for his response. Eventually, Hot Garbage Man just shakes his head. “You know what? Fine. I get off at 3, I should be able to be here by 4, is that alright?”

“That sounds _great_.”

Hot Garbage Man—Melchior, apparently—writes down Otto's address and gives Otto his number and leaves on his way. Otto gives himself to minute to rejoice before setting off on his jog. Despite his instinct to hurry, he makes himself calm down. Anticipation will, after all, make having Melchior all the sweeter.

* * *

Otto spends the rest of the day preparing. He already has tons of lube but he and Evangeline had never used condoms, so he has to go out and get a pack of those, and he gets his groceries at the same time just for ease. Then, he works out for a bit in the personal gym he had installed in the basement. After that, still not 3, so he makes himself lunch and then sheds his clothes to lie by the pool and tan.

He tans naked, because tanlines are for people who can’t afford fences, and drifts off. He wakes up to an at 3 and decides to go for a swim. _First though_ , he thinks, getting up and walking through his house, golden and toned and bare, to select a tight speedo from his drawers, more of Melchior’s comfort than his own. _We wouldn’t want to scare him off_ , Otto thinks. Before he gets in the pool, he shoots Melchior a text (from a throwaway number on a texting app, not his real number) that says that the door’s open.

He swims laps lazily, mind more focused on what’s going to happen later than on his swimming. He hasn’t gotten laid in _forever_ , hasn’t been able to risk it with how closely he’s been watched, now matter how many of his hot bored housewife neighbors have propositioned him since Evangeline’s been out of the picture. Even now, he shouldn’t be risking it, but the police have made their decision and no one will _really_ be able to prove that he’s going to fuck Melchior. He can always pull a “Guys being Dudes” or say Melchior was helping him move furniture or something, if someone asks. But regardless of the risk, it’s been so long since he’s had anyone but his own hand for company that even the _thought_ of Melchior laid out on his bed is enough to make him harden slightly. When he hears the deck door open, he looks up and _yep_ , there Melchior is.

“You came!” Otto yells from the pool. Melchior lifts a hand awkwardly. Otto swims over to the steps and climbs out of the pool, watching the way that Melchior tracks the water dripping down his body and the way that Melchior’s eyes widen when they get to Otto’s dick. Otto smirks and faux-casually adjusts himself.

“Hey,” He says, when he’s all out of the pool and in front of Melchior.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” Melchior starts. Otto puts a hand up to stop him, uninterested in the _I’m not this type of guy_ melodrama.

“I’m going to be blunt,” Otto says, shushing Melchior when he tries to speak again, “I want to fuck you. If you’re not into that, you can leave and we can both pretend this never happened, but if you _are_ , we can make this happen.”

Melchior looks shocked, expectedly, but stops floundering. He looks around at the high fence that encloses Otto’s yard, then reaches down and undoes the button on his pants. “I don’t usually bottom-”

“I’ll be gentle,” Otto assures. He puts a hand over Melchior’s where Melchior is already unbuttoning his top as well. “And as much as I love this cute overeager thing you’re doing, I don’t actually want to take you on the pool deck.”

 _Come stains are hard to clean off of wood_ , Otto doesn’t say, but Melchior nods all the same and lets Otto lead him into the house and up to the master bedroom. Once they’re there, Otto makes quick work of the rest of the buttons on Melchior’s shirt, along with placing wet, sloppy kisses along Melchior’s pulsepoint. Otto’s mouth moves down Melchior’s neck, biting more and more the closer it gets to the meat of his shoulder, as his hands move around Melchior’s back and into his pants to grip that thick ass. It’s more muscular than Otto would’ve expected, but still _nice as hell_. Melchior puts a hand in Otto’s hair and moves him from where he’s been trying to leave a hickey, pulling him up. Luckily, Otto realizes Melchior’s intent is to kiss him before their lips touch, and immediately jolts back.

“Let’s make some rules,” Otto says, “Number one: no kissing.”

Melchior scoffs. “I can’t kiss you?”

Otto doesn’t say _Kissing makes it personal_ because that would be dumb, cliche, and also not actually true for Otto. Instead he says, “The last person I kissed was my late wife, seconds before she died.”

“Didn’t she die in an accident? How did you kiss her seconds before and not die in the same accident? What happened-”

Otto puts a hand over Melchior’s mouth. “You ask _way_ too many questions. I’ll blow you if you shut up.”

Melchior considers this, then nods. Otto drops to his knees. He pulls down Melchior's pants and boxers, allowing his decent sized cock to spring out. It's half hard already, fairly thick and circumcised. Otto takes it in one hand, blowing gently on the head as he strokes it to full length.

“You have a very nice cock,” Otto says.

Melchior laughs, but it's a bit strangled and high. Otto smirks. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Otto does, but no one needs to know that. Instead of answering, he takes the head of Melchior's cock into his mouth, suctioning. His dick tastes like sweat and precome, though it isn't bad. From here, Otto can smell the soap that Melchior uses, something musky, probably a cheap Old Spice product. Otto pulls off and llicks at the head, savoring the flavor of Melchior's cock as well as the moans spilling from Melchior's mouth. As he begins to bob up and down Melchior's cock, he reaches a hand underneath to fondle Melchior's balls. Melchior makes a high, needy noise in the back of his throat, one that shoots straight to Otto’s own cock, which is getting too hard for it’s spandex confine.

Otto pulls off Melchior. “I _have_ to have you.” “ _Fuck_ , yes,” Melchior says, moans, “Where’s your lube?”

Otto points to the bedside table, where he laid the lube and condoms earlier, and grins as Melchior sheds the rest of his clothes and gets onto the bed on his hands and knees. Otto slides off his speedo, his hardness springing up with it’s release. Otto watches, idly stroking his cock, as Melchior opens the lube and awkwardly begins to open himself up.

“Would you like help?” Otto asks. Melchior flushes but nods.

“I told you, it’s been awhile since I bottomed.”

“I can believe it,” Otto says as he takes over, stretching Melchior out with his lubed up index and middle fingers, and searching for Melchior’s prostate. When Otto finds it, he gently crooks his fingers and massages it, coaxing a groan from Melchior. While still stimulating Melchior with one hand, Otto uses the other to cover and coat his own cock, before preparing it at Melchior’s entrance.

He lightly presses his cockhead to Melchior’s asshole. “You ready?”

Melchior, in response, pushes back, impaling himself onto Otto’s length. He’s _tight_ , tight enough that Otto has to still Melchior’s hips so that he can take a few seconds to calm himself. Once Otto has himself under control and feels like he’s not going to come after one thrust like some sixteen-year-old virgin, he begins pistoning his hips slowly, still holding bruisingly hard onto Melchior’s hips.

“ _Faster_ ,” Melchior demands breathlessly. Otto answers with a single quick thrust before going back to his original slow but penetrating pace. Melchior makes a frustrated noise and Otto rolls his eyes.

“Patience is a virtue.” Otto punctuates his words with another snap of his hips, startling a moan out of Melchior.

Melchior, however, won’t be subdued, “I thought you wanted to _fuck me_ , not bore me to death.”

Otto—who can feel the way that Melchior is clenching his ass on every thrust, who can see how Melchior’s back arches and his face contorts in pleasure—raises a disbelieving brow.

“You’re _bored_?” He asks. Melchior nods violently. Otto rolls his eyes and says, “Fine then.”

Otto uses his position and leverage to flip Melchior onto his back. He shifts his hands down Melchior’s legs, wrapping them both around Otto’s waist and leaning forward until he could brace his body with his arms bracketing Melchior’s head. From this position, he could thrust faster and go just as deep, which he quickly begins to do.

“Oh, god, _yeah_ , perfect,” Melchior manages, his words broken by moans and panting. Otto isn’t much better, unable to even string together thoughts with how tight and hot Melchior is around his dick.

It only takes a few more minutes before Otto is twitching into his orgasm. He removes his condom and gets rid of it, before grabbing the small bathroom trashcan and returning to Melchior, who still hasn’t come. Otto re-slicks his fingers, easily sliding two into Melchior’s ass, and goes to his knees to use his mouth to give attention to Melchior’s cock. After a minute or so of Otto rubbing at Melchior’s prostate and drooling all over Melchior’s dick, Melchior grunts out a warning. He comes in Otto’s mouth, the satisfyingly salty taste of semen coating Otto’s tongue. Otto spits into the trashcan, because he may not hate the taste but he also doesn’t want it in his stomach, and leans back on his haunches.

“Well, that was nice,” Otto says.

Melchior makes a noise that might be agreement, but also might be the sound of his soul leaving his body. Otto clicks his tongue, but decides to leave Melchior for now to recover his wits. Otto returns the trashcan to the bathroom, for him to wash out later, and washes the lube off of his fingers, and when he returns to the bedroom Melchior is more coherent.

“Can I use your bathroom to clean up?” Melchior asks. Otto gestures him in. While Melchior is cleaning up, Otto reaches into his bedroom table and pulls out two designer watches—A Rolex and a Jaeger-LeCoultre, both gifts from his late wife that he has no interest in. By the time Melchior leaves the bathroom, Otto is dressed and holding the watches.

“Are you paying me for sex?” Melchior asks, narrowing his eyes.

“No! God, no!” Otto says, “The sex wasn’t _that_ good.”

Melchior rolls his eyes, “Then what’s up with the bling, Richie Rich?”

“This is me paying you to stay quiet,” Otto says. When Melchior’s expression starts to cloud up, Otto continues, “Don’t get me wrong, this was great, but I’m kind of in the middle of a court case right now so I can’t see you again. Or risk having you talk about this.”

“Do I have to sign a NDA too?” Melchior asks sarcastically as he gets his clothes back on. Otto decides not to tell Melchior that the only reason he doesn’t have a NDA is because the paperwork would take too long to get.

“Just take the watches, and remember our time together fondly. Secretly. Without ever mentioning me to anyone, ever.”

Melchior huffs and grumbles, but takes the watches. Before he leaves Otto’s room, he turns around and asks, “Did you kill your wife?”

Melchior’s eyebrows are furrowed, but his eyes don’t hold fear or condemnation. He seems to just genuinely want to know. Still,

“I said it was an accident,” Otto says. He doesn’t continue, even as Melchior stares at him and waits for more.

Eventually, Melchior gets the picture and leaves, sighing. “Thank you for the wonderful afternoon, Otto.”

“Thanks for entertaining me, stranger that I’ve never seen before!” Otto yells down the stairs after him. Melchior clicks his tongue loudly enough that Otto can _feel_ the disdainful look that accompanies it. He smiles. It really _is_ a shame that he won’t be able to see Melchior again; he could’ve been so _interesting_.

* * *

 

(Later, Otto will go to his front hallway. He’ll stop, feeling like something is off, but will be unable to pinpoint the problem for several minutes. Eventually, his eyes will catch on an empty pedestal.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Otto will say, “He stole my fucking vase, and he knows I can’t even report the theft! Bastard!”

And he’ll think _It’s a goddamn_ shame _that I’ll never see him again_ , because seeing that crafty, opportunistic theft will be enough to convince Otto that he and Melchior could’ve been great together)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, comments and kudos feed my soul, etc etc etc 
> 
> i really hope it wasn't too terrible bc it was a fun story to create, even if the sex was incredibly difficult to write and will make this go into the "lydia is too fucking ace for this shit" folder
> 
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